


Assimilation

by Catminty



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble Sequence, Experimentation, M/M, Mental Disintegration, Psychological Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-16 10:22:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/860973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catminty/pseuds/Catminty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dark fic. The Quintessons devise a way to bring their disobedient creations to heel: A simple reprogramming virus.  However, Red Alert's glitch has helped him avoid the brainwashing his race fell victim to. Can he survive the mind games as the Quintessons slowly break down his defenses?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a drabble fic not intended to be happy or fun. I will try to post a chapter from time to time, but updates may be sporadic. The first dozen or so chapters have been sitting in a file for deca-cycles!
> 
> Oh yeah. First person POV. I've never been able to do it before, so I figured it was worth a shot.

It was too simple a virus to do the damage it caused.

That's what they all said before the hack took hold, back when they had the ability to think past the orders and fight for control over their own processors.

They didn't fight anymore. How could you fight when your freewill coding was whittled away from your programming, your spark?

_They_ said it was how things were supposed to have always been. The lies seeped into the shackled minds that desperately craved what was being offered. Acceptance came naturally.

That was how the war came to a peaceful end.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dislike first person POV. It can sometimes ruin a perfectly good story for me. Maybe it's because I don't want to relate with the antagonist? I don't know. 
> 
> As a writer (I can pretend to be one!) I feel it is important to test my limitations and push myself past my comfort zone. The only reason why I have any stories out there is because I pushed myself when I was terrified. You don't want to know how scared I was when I started the Pleasure Is Best Served Force series. To this day, I'm still worried about how my readers feel when my works are read. I'll fall short of expectations many times, but, hopefully, there will be a few fics out there that make a few people happy. 
> 
> TL:DR: Writer's rant. You know I'm bad when the author's notes are longer than the chapter~

Everyone called me a glitch, everyone said I was out of my processor. They were all blind to the signs even as I frantically screamed for them to open their optics. 

It was too late by the time they discovered their plight. After the virus took hold, a cynic, in a fleeting moment of lucidity, apologized for their ignorance. 

I was lucky in a way. The malfunction that haunted my processor stopped the virus dead in its tracks before it ravaged even a single line of my coding.

Now I was alone. I envied them for their ability to forget.


	3. Chapter 3

The room was lush, filled with comfort items that would make even a noble feel pampered. Imported goods of beauty and functionality lined shelves along the walls. High-quality fuel danced along my lines, leaving me warm, tingly, and uncomfortable.

The cuffs itched. I ran my digits along the scuff marks from endless wear in a nervous tick. My desperate glance darted around in an attempt to look any at something else. 

It was watching me again. 

I would not give it the satisfaction of responding. I had lasted this long without acknowledging It. This long...

...how long had it been?


	4. Chapter 4

Of course It disabled my chronometer. Isn't that standard procedure for instilling fear? 

The floating monster hovered a short distance away from my huddled position in the corner. Its relentless stare sent the worst kind of tingles up my back struts.

"Red Alert," It rumbled without preamble. The spontaneous sound evoked a startled squeak of fright from my twitchy frame. But even as a spike of fear ran through my circuitry that forced pistons to fire randomly, causing tremors to wrack my frame, It remained still, calm.

If anything, my response seemed to amuse It. "You are a peculiar construct."


	5. Chapter 5

Should I have been offended? Was this terror I felt the natural response or something my processor said I should feel? I hazarded a look at the Quintesson floating within my comfort zone.

"Your processor suffers from a lack of stimulation. Are you not lonely?" It asked offhandedly.

My processor tripped over itself in a _danger/warning/trap!_ loop. But it had been so long since I had interacted with another Cybertronian. When I darkly glared at the monstrosity from my corner, It did not appear offended; It just hovered there, staring at me until I squirmed, then left peaceably. 


	6. Chapter 6

I was lucky to have a window. The brightening and dimming city outside allowed me to see the passing of time. I busied my processor by etching a line in the wall for each passing orn. It was primitive, but it gave me a sense of comfort. One morning, I woke serenely in my corner. The lights outside were bright, indicating the day shift, so I made my mark. I counted:

Two hundred twenty-six, two hundred twenty-seven, two hundred twenty-eight...

Spark shattering coldness gripped my spark when I realized there was an extra scratch. Today should have been pi day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or, rather, Pi Approximation Day. 22/7 is the approximate formula for pi. In terms of a given day of the calendar year, that's July 22nd. 
> 
> For Red, he judged it as the number of days passed since he was locked away.


	7. Chapter 7

Someone, no, _Something_ came into my room and scratched a mark next to my helm while I recharged. That meant that It was getting creative with its torture.

I spent the next two orns awake, fearfully observant so that those things wouldn't sneak in again. Every sound and shout from the blissfully ignorant mecha outside caused me to flinch uncontrollably. 

It was the fourth day that I fell unconscious from lack of recharge. When I woke, there were six new scratches on the wall. Electricity zapped and crackled from my helm protrusions as the severity of the situation set in. 


	8. Chapter 8

I tried running once. 

My image was on every sign and frequency within a matter of breems. They used my species against me, leaving my capture to my once-allies. As if to prove their power, they had Inferno bring me in. He was a wreck, likely had been one for a while by the looks of things; he openly grieved over my "insanity." 

My Inferno. He begged me to come back to him--a "sane" mech--as he handed me over, back into Their care. I nodded numbly, unable to stand the pain lacing his vocalizations.

I haven't run since. 


	9. Chapter 9

The orns wore on with difficulty. Perhaps the loneliness really was eating at my sanity. Would any sane mech trust a Quintesson? 

"It is a simple, painless test," It spoke casually from Its usual spot. "Records show that many recipients find it enjoyable."

I stared at the outstretched appendage blankly. It promised that I wouldn't have to be alone anymore if I just allowed this one test. My processor screamed to run, hide.

An affliction tainted Its vocalization. Pride? Superiority? "He shares the same glitch as you."

Someone "glitched"? Someone sane. My optics shot up in a desperately hopeful look.


	10. Chapter 10

As ordered, I stood as still and relaxed as my quaking frame allowed. My spark spun tightly in my chassis as emotions warred through my processor: excited anxiousness and stark fear. All I had to do was undergo this one test. One, and I wouldn't be alone anymore...!

A long, flexible appendage poked at an armor seam at my side. I forcefully stopped myself from flinching away from the tentacle's touch. It hummed in thought and slid the length across my armor.

I shivered as it slithered under my headlight. Repulsion wormed its way through my blooming bouquet of emotions.


	11. Chapter 11

It touched every part of my frame, some areas receiving a series of deliberate swipes that warmed my plating in the worst possible way. A stroke harsh enough between my thighs lifted my peds off the ground and brought an unwanted heat to my faceplates. 

"How interesting..." The slimy fragger logged a note. It gave my traitorous frame time to cool.

I bit my glossa in frustration and stood strong in spite of the tests. I could withstand. 

Or, that's what I thought until the tentacle casually flicked a vertical line up my backplates. My optics widened; It hovered closer.


End file.
